Guilt
by bad mornings
Summary: It's a funny thing — how events unfold and one thing leads to another and then you begin to think that maybe if you hadn't done that one thing that seemed so insignificant at the time, then life and circumstances would be so different from how it is now. Ponyboy Curtis knows this feeling and he knows it very well. (Rated for mild language). ONE-SHOT.


It's a funny thing — how events unfold and one thing leads to another and then you begin to think that maybe if you hadn't done that one thing that seemed so insignificant at the time, then life and circumstances would be so different from how it is now.

Ponyboy Curtis knows this feeling and he knows it very well.

He taps the pen on his desk, one hand placed on his head as if it will decrease the constant pounding in his head his migraine has brought along. He has paperwork to fill out and papers to grade but the thoughts won't go away. They come quickly and without warning; like a car turning a sharp corner and slamming right into a wall.

"Fuck," he mutters, throwing his pencil down and bringing his fingers up to rub his blood-shot eyes.

Again, his thoughts abruptly switched into what he was sure Sodapop would tell him if he were there.

"_Get home, man, you know you ain't gonna get nothing done when you're this tired. Didn't you sleep at all last night? What's been botherin' you, huh?_"

"You," Ponyboy whispers to himself. He clenches his jaw, trying to wield himself to just _not think about, not think about it_.

And then his mind flashes to a funeral and a crying Steve and Darry with hard-set eyes and the preacher saying some bullshit speech about how brave that young man was to go and serve his country.

They gave the folded-up flag to Pony and he went home that night and tucked into a small chest and hasn't touched it since because every time he so much as glanced at it, the guilt would become too much and he'd end up spending the night in the bathroom, wailing and retching in the toilet.

If he had gone in the service, then maybe the draft letter for Soda wouldn't have came in the mail. If he had gone in the service, then maybe he could have gave his brother a little extra protection. If he had gone in the service, then maybe the bullet that hit Sodapop Curtis clean in the head would have hit Pony instead.

And God, does he wish it was him instead.

But he was scared. He was scared for his brother, for his friends, for his country. He was scared for himself. And there was no draft letter for Ponyboy. There was no draft letter in the whole thirteen months Soda spent in South Vietnam. So he didn't enlist. And he regrets that.

And then suddenly, he has vivid images of a young kid from such a long time ago telling him to stay gold. And flashes of a hoodlum being shot down by cops.

He winces and squeezes his eyes shut, trying so hard so shove away the thoughts that he always pushed away. Because once the memories were there, so was the guilt.

It should have been him that was hit with the burning wood. Johnny had a life ahead of him, a good life ahead that he so desperately deserved to have. It should have been him, and then Dallas wouldn't have done what he did and they both would still be alive.

He feels guilty because they both were in that fire, dammit. Johnny did a good deed and was cheated out of life. It isn't fair.

It just isn't fair.

It isn't fair that his best friend was dead, it isn't fair that Soda was killed, it isn't fair that Steve has to be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life because a leg had been blown off in combat, it isn't fair that Two-Bit Mathews was almost literally drowning himself in alcohol because maybe he feels guilty too, it is fair that Darry can barely look at Ponyboy anymore because he sees so much of Soda in him.

It isn't fucking fair that it isn't Ponyboy, who had so many chances to die, is still alive.

It isn't fair that he has to live with the guilt and the thoughts and the memories and the feelings.

He then recalls something his eldest brother would tell him: "_Life_ ain't fair, kid."

And it really isn't.

* * *

**A/N: skldjflfdv I posted this on tumblr but then I decided to just go ahead and upload it here as well, since I kind of like it. I haven't written anything at all for this site in quite a while, so it really would make my day to review this! Concrit is always, always welcome! Thank you for reading, friends ily.**

_**Review, you fuckers.**_


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